


Salvation

by aidez_moi



Category: Saw (Movies)
Genre: Other, POV First Person, slowburn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-12-11
Packaged: 2020-10-12 21:15:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20571005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aidez_moi/pseuds/aidez_moi
Summary: What would Hoffman be like if someone, anyone, was there to catch him as he was falling, to pull him from the darkness?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Since this is a slowburn: if you are looking for smut, you won't find it here for a while. Sorry!  
Fair warning, there is quite a bit of religiosity/spirituality.  
Thanks for reading!

“Oh, uh, hi there, can you help me out of here, I’m a bit lost.” I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, coming in contact with a man who was about 6’4, bulky, and scary as hell. He narrowed his eyes at me with suspicion, and my stomach turned, but I tried my best to keep an innocent look on my face. I didn’t want to make it obvious that I’d seen what I had.  
All I wanted to see was ghosts. My friends and I had often joked, as we traversed the hole-ridden street that connected our workplace and our college dormitory, that the place was obviously haunted. I mean, just look at it. It looked like the kind of place that would be crawling with mice, bats, cobwebs, and ghosts. I wanted ghosts, and not even full-heartedly. I was going to get a picture for my friends, tell them some fake, scary story about some ghost I saw, and head home. But instead, I accidentally walked through a door and had my eyes land upon the infamous Jigsaw killer and his sidekick, Amanda Young. Instantly registering him, I hid back around the corner and tried to find my way back out. I wasn’t intensely scared of some raggedy old man and a girl who was at least 40lb lighter than me, but I knew that they had to have some way of kidnapping their victims, and I didn’t know what, so I backed out before I could find out.  
And now I was face to face with someone I was intensely scared of, mostly because of the gun he had hoisted on his hip. “You shouldn’t be here.”  
I laughed a bit, “You think it’s actually as haunted as they say?” He kept a deadpan expression. “I’ll take that as a yes,” I mumbled. “Well, uh, if I shouldn’t be here, then, you mind showing me the way out?” He looked past me, as if checking to see if anyone was there, then looked down at me with a menacing expression.  
“Sure. Follow me.” Every word of his was terse. Every sentence short. Tense. I could sense the worry in him that I might know. Stepping towards a door that I knew led to the outside, I watched as the man’s hands shot down to his hip to grab his gun, and in a quick second, he pulled it out to point it directly at me. But before he could fully lift it up to my face, I grabbed his wrist, diverting the gun, and gave a blow to his jawbone. I sent a kick to his nuts, which caused him to double over in anguish, his gun dropping to the floor, and I took that moment to grab the gun and launch my foot straight into his face. He fell backward, lying flat, and let out a groan. Before he could do any more, I ran out into the night, the freezing air clasping onto the exposed parts of my face, the snow falling gently around me as I sprinted back to my college dorm. 

\-----------------------------

I can’t tell you why I didn't call the police. I know I should have, but I didn’t. Something about those cases made my flesh crawl and my chest burn, in a way that nothing else did. But I chose not to call.  
I kept thinking about that night. I kept thinking about that man, whose face permeated my thoughts as I sat in lectures, lifted weights, and lay down at night. I even saw his eyes, crystal, ocean blue, emerging in my dreams. I wasn’t quite sure if they scared me. So little did, after all. I was strong enough to protect myself. I was perceptive enough to sense oncoming trouble. But those eyes made me feel something writhe in my stomach. I called it fear, but I didn’t know what it was in all reality.

\-------------------------------

I ran into him at the grocery store. We both reached for the chicken breast for the same time. “Oh, my bad go ahe---” I stopped when I looked up at him, seeing his eyes burning into my skin. Honestly, I didn’t even recognize him at first. “Dude, it’s okay we both just happened to be reaching for the chicken breast. No bad vibes, seriously,” I chuckled a little bit, finding it funny that some guy would actually get offended that we---  
Oh. Oh shit.  
It hit me like a brick to the face. I wanted to burst out laughing. There was something terrifying and humorous and nerve-wracking in the scenario. We both straightened out, pulling away from the chicken. I couldn’t anticipate his next move, nor did I know what mine should be, as we just stared at each other.  
“No really, you can go ahead and get your chicken first.” I smiled humorously. Looking around, he came around the side of his cart to get a bit closer to me.  
“You didn’t even call the cops. Why?” I took a deep breath. How was I supposed to know?  
“I don’t know. Didn’t feel like it. You gonna put me in a game for it?” I said sarcastically. He looked at me incredulously. “You tell your friends you got the shit beaten out of you?” He glared at me.  
“Kind of had to. You broke my nose. There was blood everywhere.”  
“Well you look fine to me.”  
“Whatever, bitch.” The “bitch” was under his breath. I laughed out loud. “Had to tell them to clear out as fast as possible.”  
“Oh, did I get in the way of your plans? Good.” He backed up to grab the chicken off the shelf and put it in his cart. “This is like meeting your teacher in a Walmart, except a hundred times weirder.”  
Annoyed by my antics, he leaned forward, and whispered just loud enough for me to hear him, “I’m going to make you regret ever meeting me.”  
“You don’t even know who I am.” He rolled his eyes and looked over to the side. “I guess it wouldn’t be too hard for you to figure it out though. Aren’t you a cop? I swear I’ve seen your same face in a police uniform.” His eyes flicked up at me, confirming my suspicion. He tried to look malevolent, but it was easy to see the worry of a boy in his eyes. “And they say “not all cops.” Oh well. Don’t worry, I don’t know your name either. And I don’t feel like looking for it. Your secret is safe with me,” I whispered, doing a zipper movement across my mouth and smiling mischievously.  
I pushed my cart back just enough so I could reach the chicken as he continued to look at me. I was bit glad it was my last item so I could get out of the store. I grabbed my cart, ready to head to the checkout line, before turning back to him. “I hope to see you again, Anon.”  
I was starting to place a finger on why I didn’t call the cops. My body flooded with emotions. Emotions that started to have names and connections that started to make sense. Something about those blue eyes shocked me in a way nothing had. I could name the fondness growing inside me, but I still couldn’t explain why I felt it. But why end it? Why stop pressing the issue if it kept arising? 

\--------------------------------

I sat in the coffee shop, my laptop in front of me, staring at the screen. I kept reading the same line, over and over again, trying to understand what the hell was going on. It was useless. My mind kept wandering off in a million different directions. I took a sip of my Ice Coffee. It was something new they introduced to the store. It tasted like shit, not gonna lie. I rubbed my face with my hands, wishing I had more friends so that I could text them and get some answers, but I wasn’t on that level with anybody at my college.  
I took a deep breath and closed my laptop. It was pointless. I looked around the coffee shop and--  
Oooooh. Standing in line, ordering what I could only hope was a plain black coffee, because of course he was the kind of bastard to only get plain black coffee, was Anon, the cop I’d already run into twice now. I kept staring him down, waiting for him to notice me, and when he turned around his face was priceless. A mix of horror and annoyance. I was trying my best not to laugh out loud.  
He gave his name to the cashier, and walked over to me as he waited for the barista to call out his name with his order.  
“Are you following me?”  
“I was literally here first.”  
“What the fuck.”  
“Take a seat, pretty boy.” I said, smacking the table with humor. He stared at me, irritation beaming from his eyes. He looked down at my body.  
“Nice cross,” he said sarcastically.  
“I don’t have--” I looked down at my body, the light from the windows streaming through and hitting me in the shape of a cross. “Ah, well, trust me, I’m the last person who would have a cross on them.” He smiled, just a bit, and took a seat.  
“Pretty boy, huh?”  
“Once I realized I could kick your ass I knew you were one.” He shook his head at me. “So, cop, how are you this fine morning?”  
“Detective. And I’m fine. I have work in like, 30 minutes.”  
“Oh, which job?” I inquired. He glared at me.  
“This is awfully early for you, hm? First time I met you, you were exploring an abandoned warehouse--”  
“Though, not really abandoned.”  
“At 3 in the morning. You don’t seem like the type to be up at 9 am.”  
“Oh well, I still have school. I have a 10:30 class that I still haven’t read for.”  
“High school?” He smirked.  
“Oh fuck off, I’m a Junior in college. What high school student has their first class at 10:30?” I said. He chuckled in response.  
“You’re nuts, you know that?”  
“Because I’m chatting with you?” He nodded. “Well what’s wrong with that?”  
“We’re not friends. I don’t want to see you again. You’re very lucky we keep meeting in public areas.” He whispered.  
“You’re lucky I don’t go to the police.”  
“I guess we’re both lucky,” his voice dropped to a low and sultry octave. It probably wasn’t meant to be sultry, probably meant to be scary, but I liked it. I wasn’t scared of him.  
I put my chin in my hand. “I think I’m very lucky.” He tilted his head and squinted his eyes, a smile still on his face.  
“What do you mean?”  
“I think you’re funny. I like you.” He wrestled with something in his mind, though I didn’t know what, with his eyes looking towards the ceiling. He looked back down at me, his gaze meeting mine. There was something sad in his eyes.  
“It’s best you just leave me alone.”  
“ANON!” The barista called out. He gave me a clever smile and I laughed in response. He pushed himself out of the chair and began walking over to the counter.  
“Well, let’s hope this is the last time I see you.” He turned away from me.  
“What is it?” I said. He looked back at me confusedly. “What’d you get?”  
“Black coffee.”

\--------------------------

There’s no way it was a coincidence. I stayed up all night thinking about it. We kept bumping into each other, again and again. I imagined his ocean eyes, which I already knew so well. I felt like I knew him well. A first for me.  
I hoped we would see other again. For the days after I went outside of my dorm more than I ever had, hoping I would see him. At night I relished in my fantasies of what it would be like the next time we met. I found myself surprised that I was okay with my growing fondness of someone who was both a bootlicker and a serial killer.  
I couldn’t sleep well most nights. Instead, I found myself walking around my campus, trying to cool myself down enough that I would be able to get enough sleep for my morning classes.

\------------------------

He clicked his tongue. “Well, well, well, we just keep meeting don’t we?” I turned around. I had been standing on a street corner that was barely illuminated by the street lamp. I could just barely make out his face, obscured by the shadows, but it was still easy to recognize him by his height and size alone. His face was all scrunched up.  
“Oh, hi there Anon.” I was a bit surprised. I didn’t actually think we would run into each other anymore. It’s not like we lived in a small city. “What are the chances? I’m starting to think God wants us to see each other.”  
“Why do you keep calling me Anon?”  
“Well, you haven’t given me a name. But it’s short for anonymous. It fits. Another aid to Jigsaw that nobody knows about.”  
“Nobody except you.”  
“Well, I don’t really matter.” I smiled at him. “What are you doing out here. On your way to meet the dynamic duo?”  
“Actually, yes.”  
“You know, I definitely think God wants this. He’s trying to intervene with your dastardly ways.” I chuckled. “Come into the light a little.” He stepped onto the curb, the street lamp shining favorably upon him, enough to make his eyes glitter. I glanced at the rest of him. He was covered in black from head to toe: leather gloves on his hands, a black coat made of rain material covering his upper body, sturdy boots, black work pants. “Nice outfit.”  
He stared at me. There was a look in his eyes. That sad look I had seen at the coffee shop. “What’s wrong with you? You should call the police, or at the very least run the other way. Run as far as you can.” I shrugged. He stepped closer to me, his hand settling an a sheath that was stuck to his hip. A knife. His eyebrows furrowed and I saw, just barely in the dim light, his hand shaking. Any semblance of a smile left my face. I looked into his eyes. The light made the wetness in them blatantly obvious.  
“Do you want to kill me?”  
There was nothing but silence. He couldn’t seem to take the knife out of his pocket. He just stood there, his eyes pointed towards the ground in what I could only describe as guilt.  
“No,” He said simply. “No, but I’m worried I have to.”  
“A cop working with Jigsaw is a mighty big case, but I have no urge to bring it to light. I really don’t.” I paused. “For someone who kills people, you seem very afraid. Not of me, even, but of something else.” A tear fell from his eye, and he looked up at the sky, blinking fervently to try and stop the flow. “It’s okay,” I said, stepping closer to him, but before I knew it, he had plunged the knife into my stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Didn't expect to be updating so soon, but here it is! Please enjoy, and while you're at it, go take a look at my far more developed fanfic, Opposite Ends!

My eyes widened in horror as I looked down at the wound, and then back up at him, who’s eyes were practically popping out of his head, mortified at what he had done. 

“Oh god,” he cried. “I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” He held me up as his quickly tried to figure out what he should do. Black dots began to pepper my vision. My hand, which was holding my stomach in pain, was covered in blood. I could feel myself falling into the abyss, being cocooned by the darkness, as anon lifted me off the ground and began carrying me to an unknown destination. The world went dark.

\---------------------------------

I woke up. I didn’t know where I was or what time it was or what my name was. I was laying on a soft mattress and covered by a dark blue, plush blanket. I was very warm. I lifted myself up into a sitting position at the protest of the pain in my stomach, which began to remind me of what had happened and gave me a hint as to where I was. I looked around me, it was a mid-sized room. There was nice plush rug on the floor, a T.V. in the corner. A couple awards were hung on his wall as well as a few music posters for pop-rock bands. I looked to the night stand beside me. Other than a lamp, which radiated a gentle yellow light since the sun outside was down, there was a framed picture of a woman on the table with dark hair. She was beautiful. I wondered if this Anon was married. I felt kind of bad for flirting with him. 

I slid out of the bed. The floors were simple hardwood. I rather liked it. I opened the door to the bedroom and walked out to find him reading a book on the couch. He looked up at me and his face melted in relief. 

“Thank god,” he said as he lifted himself off the couch and walked over to me. He lifted his arms to touch me, but stopped and brought them back down to his side. “I...I’m so sorry.” He pursed his lips with nothing else to say.

“Did you patch me up?”

“Yes. Thankfully it wasn’t that big of a blade. It was just a shallow wound. I was just keeping you here so you could rest.” I could almost see his thoughts, which were heavy, and weight on his shoulders as though he was trying to hold the universe above his head. “You should...probably go.” His voice was low, shame pouring out. 

“You feel it too, don’t you?” He looked up at me, confused. “You feel it but you can’t put a finger on it. I can’t either.” I took a step closer to him. “Were you even looking for me? I wasn’t looking for you.”

“The other night?” He asked. I nodded. “No, I wasn’t.”

I shook my head. “And yet we keep bumping into each other. One time is normal. Two times is odd. Three times is...I don’t know. It’s not like we even lead similar lives. I’m a broke, lonely college student and you’re a well-off, maybe-married detective.”

“I’m not married.”

“Oh. Is that picture in your room your…?”

“Sister.”

“That’s sweet.” 

He swallowed loudly and his lips tightened. “She’s dead.” I mumbled an apology, and he shrugged lightly, his face wrought with sadness. “I’m as lonely as it gets.”

“Ah yes, you feel like you have friends but..”

“They’re not really there?”

“Yeah...my sister passed too. A few years ago, right before I went to college. Nothing’s been the same since then.” He nodded in agreement. “I know you want me to go, but I can’t ignore this thing I feel, Anon. When you looked at me the first night we met, it turned my soul upside down. I know that’s stupid. Especially now. I shouldn’t forgive you, but I do. You did take care of my wound after all.”

“After I inflicted it on you.”

“We all do stupid things sometimes, don’t we? Though I guess it’s a little more than that. More than a little. But none of us are free from bad choices. That’s the thing. When I looked at you I couldn’t even focus on what you were doing. I couldn’t focus on the bad because I see something else in you.” 

He looked into my eyes. 

“I feel like something is pulling us together.” He said, quickly. I nodded and smiled, urging him on. “I don’t even know you but every time I saw you I felt like I was supposed to be there. You joked about God last night wanting me to see you, but I don’t think it’s a joke. And I don’t even believe in the bastard.” He said. I laughed and he let out a small chuckle, a first from a man who was so dark in every instance I’d seen him. 

I was half tempted to inch my face just a little bit closer to his, to share a shred of intimacy, but I decided against it. 

“I don’t believe in the bastard either. It looks like we’re in the same boat.” We smiled at each other. We were quiet for a bit, sharing something between us that was neither physical nor vocal. “Tell me, what day is it?”

“Uh, Monday. It’s like, 2:15 so I mean, it’s technically Tuesday,” he said, somewhat flustered. I let go of his face. 

“Wow you made me miss my Monday classes. I’m hurt. What am I gonna do?” I said, sarcasm dripping from my voice. “I don’t even know where I am.”

“Ah, right. Tomorrow I’ll drop you off at your college, first thing in the morning, if you’d like. Or whenever your first class is.”

“Aw thanks dad.”

“Ew don’t be weird.” 

I laughed out loud. “I’m kidding. I just forgot in all this mess that you’re a functioning adult with a car and your own apartment.”

“You think I’m functioning?” We both chuckled a bit. 

“I hate to, break the mood, but if you don’t mind me asking: Did you ever end up going to Jigsaw that night?” Surprisingly, his smile didn’t leave his face entirely. He wasn’t laughing, but it didn’t seem that I’d ruined his mood at all.

“Nope. I actually haven’t spoken to him since you punched me in the face and broke my nose.” That made me smile. That was a good thing. “I think someone doesn’t want me to see him,” he said, glancing upwards. 

Just then, his expression shifted, his lips pursing together and his eyes glancing towards the ground. Something was wrong, and I wondered if it was Jigsaw or me. “Do you want to talk about why you’re with him?” He closed his eyes. 

“Yes.” 

\-----------------------------

The whole story was a roller coaster from start to finish. The story of his sister, of Seth Baxter, the murder, getting drugged by Jigsaw, becoming his accomplice, and finally all the terrible shit he had been blackmailed into complying with. Between the story, and quick questions all throughout, My mouth was hanging open just slightly in astonishment. The Jigsaw cases had made me quite mad before, mostly because I thought the Jigsaw’s rhetoric was a load of horseshit, but now it angered me even more. 

“Are you open for comments?” I asked.

“Of course.”

“Fuck him.” I said angrily. “He really thinks that’s what’s going to help?” Hoffman looked down at his shoes and then back at me, unsure of how to feel. “How do you feel?”

“I...I don’t know. Sometimes I feel like I deserve it. Sometimes I feel like it’s ridiculous. But there’s nothing I can do. There never has been. There was never a time constraint or a way out. Even after he dies I get the feeling I’ll be stuck in his trap of his. And I know I’m fucked up. You don’t look at dead bodies every day, dead bodies that you put there, and not be fucked up. Sometimes I look at them I don’t even care and I would just go home and...I knew that something was wrong with me but I couldn’t find a way out. And it’s not like I can get a fucking counselor. So I just...I desperately want to stop but I know I can’t. And I know that there’s a reason it’s happening that’s my fault. And I can choose to be depressed about it or be apathetic and different days yield different emotions.”

I sat in silence for a bit, unsure of what to say but eager to help. “Let me help you find a way out.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Absolutely not. You...I can’t let you do that. You’re not…my counselor or my problem-solver. I have to deal with it myself.” I knew he was right, but didn’t he just say he couldn’t figure it out? 

“I know I’m not those things, and ultimately, it’s up to you to solve the issue, to fix your problems, but I can help. It’s the internal issues I can’t help, but I can ease the external pressure. You killed someone. You were an alcoholic and you killed someone. That’s beyond me and that’s a problem you have to face on your own. But I think we can tackle this Jigsaw problem together so that you can begin to face the real issue.”

“Which is?”

I didn’t want to be harsh, but he had to hear it. “That you’re dependent. I know that your sister died. I get it. It’s normal to lash out and it’s normal to be angry but killing someone is a different matter.” He seemed offended, but his mouth stayed clasped shut. “That’s the only thing in your story that I can’t quite understand, nor can I excuse, and nor can I help you to fix or commit to change.” I felt myself getting a little heated, and I was blindsided by it, as he told the story, I had sympathized, but as I spoke it became more angering to me. “People die all the time, you know? And there are ways to get over that and recover from that. There are ways to seek justice and there are ways to solve the issue, but you need to--”

“Just go. Please just go.”

“What?”

“Get out of my house.”

“You’re going to push me away?”

He got up off the couch and lifted me up by my arms, pushing me to do the front door. “Look, there’s nothing you or I or anyone else can do about my situation,” he said, getting louder by the second. “So just get out!” He yelled, thrusting me out the door and slamming it in my face. I let out a deep sigh. It’s not like I was eager to break down his door, so I resigned and walked out of the apartment complex, taking note of his apartment number and the name of the street on my way out. 

Incredibly, I hadn’t even gotten his name.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Phew. Sorry. I had a really hard time pumping the beginning of this one out. It was just...super weird to write. Idk. I hope you all like it!

God. I couldn’t help but feel an eluding presence. Someone was there. I’d never been religious. After all, I was always the loser outcast. Once my sister died, I’d become a recluse, and even once I got to college that never changed. I had a few friends, but I hardly knew them. Why should I believe in God? I spent years praying to him, hoping for him to show up, and he never did. 

Until I met that Psycho Detective. 

Though not really psycho, but kind of, sort of. He’d certainly done things that were incomprehensible, in my eyes, and twisted, but I couldn’t help but feel saddened by the situation. After all, it was less of the person, and more of the situation. 

And now God or Allah or Zeus had thrown Him into my life, time and time again, forcing me to feel things I hadn’t felt since my sister had passed. He was desperate, hopeless, and completely alone. I had felt the same, but He had invigorated me, leaving me, every time we met, with a sense of renewal. Then he pushed me away. I wanted to stay, but he forced me out the door, helpless and afraid and insecure of his own abilities, his words insistent that I keep away, as far as possible--even though I could see, could feel, rather, his ache, him yearning for me to stay. 

I had a feeling that if I didn’t put matters into my own hands, God wouldn’t be pulling through again. And if I wasted too much time, I would become nothing more but a distant memory in his mind. I wouldn’t have been able to fucking stand that. 

The issue was that even if I did show up, I had no idea what I would say or do. There were a lot of things I could say that would ultimately be too harsh and some that would be severely off-key for the situation. A direct route to Him seemed unlikely, if not impossible, to achieve. I knew he would only keep pushing me away. 

And that got me thinking…

An indirect route. One that wouldn’t get him in trouble. If I could keep Him from admitting his acquaintanceship with me--although it was friendship, in my humble opinion--the answer to my issue would simply be taking down John Kramer. 

I laughed at the thought. Ridiculous. What made me think I could do something that the cops couldn’t do? But maybe I could. Maybe if I tried. And even if I failed, an effort of some sort was better than trying nothing, and if I succeeded, I could both take down that arrogant son-of-a-bitch Jigsaw AND have Hoffman. The thought persuaded me. 

It was game time.

Jigsaw, in all his tiny glory, had yet to expand outside the city. That was good for me. While the city wasn’t particularly small, it also wasn’t the largest thing you’d ever seen, and there were only a few areas I would consider distinctly abandoned and that had not already been touched by Jigsaw. 

I bought a ton of cameras that I would plant at the entrances of each place I considered an area of interest. The guy at the Radio Shack looked at me like I was nuts. Pretty sure the only guy he’d seen buy from his shop anymore was Jigsaw himself. Bastard probably kept the company alive. 

I set the cameras up. I went to class in the day, did my homework in the evening, and set the cameras up at night. They were linked to my laptop, which I kept a close eye on. I knew they probably wouldn’t act until night, but I was still insistent on having my eyes fixed on my laptop when I could. I felt rather obsessive, if we’re being honest, but I felt like it was in good will. I was trying to help both of us. 

So I just kept watching and watching. Waiting and hoping. 

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

And there they were. After about a week of waiting, they casually walked into an abandoned building 15 minutes from me. And by they, I mean Jigsaw and his accomplice Amanda Young. Thank God, I had caught them by themselves. 

It was 1:30 in the morning when they entered the building. I had an 8 am class the next morning, but I sure as hell didn’t give a fuck. My heart was racing, speeding, accelerating.

I sprinted out of my door, running to the location. Thankfully, it was one of the closest locations to my college. I prayed I would get there before Hoffman, if he was even coming. Beat the shit out of John and Amanda. Call the cops. Then bam. The whole thing would be over. The coffee running through my blood projected my legs forward at top speed. I didn’t need my hopefully soon to be boyfriend (No seriously he’s a beautiful man) finding out the extent to which I was going. He would think I was a psycho. It’s not like he had room to talk, but I didn’t want him to think I was stalking him (even if I was).

I rolled up outside the building and pulled on the door. It was locked.

Fuck!

I took a step back and looked up at the building. There were some windows, but they were pretty high, and it’s not like I’m a rock climbing aficionado or something. But I could still climb…

Was I crazy? Potentially. This man drove me mad and I did not know why. I was absolutely ready to climb. Hell yeah. And so I jumped up, grabbing onto a brick that was jutting out of the side of the building, my foot clinging to the wall and pushing myself up. The wall as a whole was very textured, so it made it simpler to push myself up. I was able to inch up a bit more, but I wasn’t able to simply reach for the window. If I jumped, though, I could grab onto one of the 2nd floor window sills. I prepped myself to take the leap.

“Hey! What the hell are you doing!”

My whole body jolted with fear, and my foot slipped from it’s grip and I fell backwards, slamming into the concrete. 

“Shit! Christ, I think I just busted my fucking head open,” I cried out, scrunching my face in pain. I opened my eyes too see the man who had just called out to me. It’s Anon. “Oh, hi Anon.”

“You’re bleeding from your head.”

“Am I? Ah, fuck, oh well.” I lifted myself up off the ground to be closer to his eye level. “Interesting seeing you here.” I said awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” 

“I just wanted to know what was in this building.”

“Really?” He raised his eyebrows at me disbelievingly, a nice addition to his already accusatory tone. 

“Yeah,” I choked out. I was on the verge of laughing out loud. I was a horrific liar.

“Are you stalking me?”

“No.”

“Don’t bullshit me.”  
“Look, I just...want to stop Jigsaw. It’s nothing to do with you.” He didn’t respond. “Okay maybe it has something to do with you.”

“I told you to leave me alone.”

“Ah, well, actually, you just told me to get out of your house.”

“Fine. Well, now I’m telling you to leave me alone.” He started to pull a key out of pocket in order to gain access to the building. 

“Can we please just handle this like fucking adults?”

He looked at me incredulously. “Adults? Seriously? This is beyond fucking being an adult. Do you recognize how fucking difficult this is? It’s out of the realm of just talking it out, so just leave it be.”

“If you don’t let me talk to you and help you, I will call the fucking cops. Right now.” Anon closed his eyes and threw his head back, like he was trying to cope with the anger coursing through him.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Then talk to me. Do you want this? Huh? Do you really want to keep working for some decrepit, scraggly old bastard?” He didn’t answer. “See, that’s the thing. You are so scared of some imaginary results that you would throw away your whole life just to avoid them.”

“Because they aren’t imaginary!”

“They would be if you would just let me help you!”

“I don’t want your help! Okay? I’m not your art project, I’m not your tragic lover, and I’m not in need of your salvation! You are not my savior!”

“I know that,” I spewed through gritted teeth. “But Jesus Christ. I am all alone in this world. I have no one. My parents hate me. My sister is dead. My teachers don’t give a shit about me. I’m a recluse with no friends, no family, not even a goddamn dog. But I like you! I want to be your friend! I am a misanthropic son of a bitch, but whenever I see you or think about you I feel like I have somebody!” I paused. I felt like crying. Hell, I felt like begging. “Please just give me a chance. I am not saving you, okay? I know I am not a savior. I know. That’s not what I am trying to do. I am just trying to stay alive here.”

He turned to me, his brows furrowed and his eyes started to glisten. “You think because we kept meeting that this fate or something. It’s not. It never was.”

“Please don’t be cold.”

“I’m not. I’m being honest. We are not soulmates. We are just people, who kept happening to meet. Jesus, I stabbed you! You think that’s what soulmates do?”

“I never said we were soulmates.”

“Friends don’t do that either.” 

I put my face into my hand, trying to staunch the tears that began to come out of my eyes. I snapped my head up to look him in his eyes.

“Fine. If you don’t want to be friends, I can’t make you want my friendship.” I paused. “But you know what? I fucking hate Jigsaw. I hate that bastard. He thinks he is some sort of savior but I don’t think he would know what actually helping people looked like if was staring back at him.”

“What’s your point?”

“Open that fucking door.”

“Excuse me?” 

“Open that door so I can go up there and send the ancient sonuvabitch and his 20 year old sugar baby to the fucking hospital.” I walked closer to him. “If you never want to talk to me again after this I wouldn’t blame you, but I’m done sitting here watching you lay flat on your back as you let John walk all over you. You’re a coward, but that doesn’t mean I want to watch you squirm.”

“I’m not a coward.”

“You know what? I don’t fucking care what you think. You are a coward! You are a cold, psychotic little bitch! You claim to want freedom but you won’t take it when it’s right in front of you!”

“Oh fuck you!”

“Open the doors!”

“No fucking way. You’re a fucking cunt.”

“Oh deadass?”

“Yes! You’re calling me names, trying to blame me for my own situation, and I’m supposed to just let you? Fuck right off.”

“Buddy, listen, we both know you can’t beat me in a fight so why even bother trying? This is ridiculous. If you really want Jigsaw off your back, you might as well just open the doors! But instead, you’re...what? Trying to defend him? What do you really want? Huh?”

“I want you to just take some fucking pity on me!”

“What?”

We both sat in silence for a solid minute. 

When he spoke, his voice ached, dripped with pain. “I am suffering here. Okay? This is all hard for me and I don’t know how to cope. I made a bad decision years ago and I know it was bad and I wish I hadn’t done it. But you know what I wish for far, far more? I wish that when my sister died, somebody, anybody, would have taken pity on me. I don’t want advice. I don’t want you to tell me how to live my life or try to change my life or push your views onto me. I just want you to listen and I just want reassurance and I want you to just take pity on me. And I know that is pathetic but I just want my life to stop going 100 miles per hour for one fucking second so I can breathe.”

I took a deep breath. I let it out. By this point, Anon was leaning against the building, wiping his face intermittently, and looking up to the moon.

“Okay. I get it. I’m sorry.” I walked over next to him and leaned against the wall. “I will sit with you through this. No matter how long it takes.”

Hoffman reached down and grabbed my hand, squeezing it tightly. 

“What’s your name, detective?” 

“Mark Hoffman. You?”

“Finn. No last name.”

“You choose that name?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re waiting for me up there.” 

“I know.” 

“I should probably get up there.” I nodded. It took everything in me to keep my mouth shut instead of insisting he not go. 

“Okay.”

“Here,” he said, reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a key and handed it to me. “I reckon you memorized where I live?”

“Perhaps.”

“This is the spare. If you’d like to go there. Spend the night. And we can talk in the morning for a bit before I have to go in to my actual job.” I grabbed the key and shot him a faint, pained smile. 

“Alright. I’ll be waiting.”

He walked past me, unlocked the door to the building, and gave one last fleeting look at me before he walked in and closed the door behind him. I started to walk down the street in the general direction of his house. 

Pity. 

My whole life I had been sarcastic, reclusive, and brutally honest. I was not the kind to spare pity or empathy. I didn’t know if I could, to be honest. 

I looked up at the sky, and just in case God was there:

“Please help me get through this you floating bastard. I need you. Just this once.”

I looked forward and marched the rest of the way to Mark Hoffman’s house.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really said, "Aight, Imma head out" 
> 
> Here's another chapter (two months later...)

I sat in his house for a couple hours, fueled by the adrenaline. I had kind of sort of gotten what I wanted, though not quite. I thought a lot about what he had said, about not needing a savior. I scoffed. I felt for him. I understood his need for pity. But of course he needed a savior. He needed someone. What was the point in opposing me? But if I wanted to help, this was the route I would have to take.

At around 4 am, Hoffman quickly came through the door, closing it behind him swiftly, but still trying to be quiet. I was laying down on his couch and raised myself up to look at him. He turned to me, and when I saw the front view, my eyes nearly popped out of my head. I couldn’t bring myself to say anything.

“Not my blood.”

“Uh, I figured.” My mouth was agape. Though it was difficult to tell with his black coat, a layer of glistening, dark red blood was splattered onto him. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. I told you it isn’t my blood.”

“I meant emotionally.” He looked at me like I was stupid and should already know the answer. Of course I knew the answer, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t ask. “Okay, obviously not. Would you like to--”

“No. I want to shower.” Terse. Short. Tense. He walked past me and into his room where the bedroom was. I followed after him. He took off his gloves and placed them in a black laundry basket as I watched him intently, unsure of what to do or say. I could see his hands shaking, almost violently, as he took off his jacket, trying to keep his eyes averted from mine. 

“Do you need me to--”

“Can you please stop watching me? Just keep laying down on the couch or whatever you were doing.”

Bastard. Asks me to take pity and then when I try he pushes it away. 

“Okay. I’ll be right out here if you need me.” I tried to sound as soft as I could. Tried to smooth out my rough edges a bit. He didn’t respond, so I turned and went out into the living room. Realizing his might have left blood on the front door, I went to check on it. Lo and behold, there was blood on the door.

Dumbass.

I grabbed a cloth from the kitchen and wiped the blood away best I could. Might as well keep him out of jail, if that was all he would let me do. I was wondering if that was what this was all about in his eyes. Manipulating me so I wouldn’t report him to the police or keep him from working with Jigsaw. What if everything was just an act? The shaking, the crying, everything? 

Even if it was, I was, though I loathed to admit it, far too lonely to offer up my only (maybe) friend to the police. I let out a sigh. I wasn’t too sure if I was comfortable with everything going on, but I knew I would keep doing it, and I wondered if that made me evil.

“Finn?”

“Hold on.” I called back. I got the last of the blood off the door and walked back inside to see him standing sheepishly in the living room. He has washed the blood off his face and from his hair. “You left blood on the front door. I was just wiping it off.”

“Jesus, sorry. You didn’t have to--”

“Don’t worry about it. It’s easier to just say thank you than sorry.”

“Whatever.” He paused. “Thanks.”

I nodded. “Did you need me?”

“More of a want.”

“What is it?”

His eyes shifted from left to right in embarrassment. “Will you...ahem...um... shower with me?”

“Pffffttt Jeez, take me out to dinner first will you.”

“You know, that’s an excellent point, But I’m not trying to… I just want company, damn. And I will take you out to dinner. Eventually.”

I tried to contain my laughter. “Alright. I guess I’ll join you.”

I followed him to the bathroom where he had alright had warm water running from the shower head. We both stripped down and stepped under the fall of water. I tried to keep my eyes up. It was hard. Very. 

“I should probably explain myself a little bit better.”

“Huh?” I snapped out of my trance.

“About why I don’t want to have you end this all so fast.”

“You said it’s because you just want things to slow down for a second. Even though it would slow down if you just...”

“Ah ah ah,” he interrupted. 

“Sorry. Unwarranted, but accurate advice, I know...I’m sorry, please continue.” He rolled his eyes.

“You know John is blackmailing me. And I would love for you to handle it, but I have to handle it myself. If I don’t, I’m afraid he’ll find out that we’re connected and release my information.”

“Okay. I get it.” 

“And...That’s not all.”

“Okay. What else?” 

Looking me in the eye, Mark took a deep breath. His face changed from pink to cherry red in an instant. Without warning, he wrapped his arms around me, enveloping me best he could. Although I was surprised, I put my arms around his middle and we just stood there, the warm, cleansing, pure water falling down on both of us. Finally, he spoke. “I worry that you won’t like me if I stop working for Jigsaw.”

Wait, what? I didn’t know how to respond to that.

“Um, Elaborate?”

“Nobody wants me anymore. Nobody except you. Not working for Jigsaw won’t fix what I am, the person that I am. And I worry that if I didn’t seem like I needed you, then you wouldn’t want me.” 

“Oh.”

He pulled back and looked me in the eye. It was only then that I realized how incredibly lonely and depressed this detective was. He had stabbed me, threatened me, thrown any kindness I had given back in my face. And now, his face was softer and sadder than I’d ever imagined it could be. I couldn’t match that level of softness. Should I crack a joke? Should I just stay silent?

He reached his hand up to cusp my face and ran his thumb gently against my cheek. His eyes were looking at my lips. When they came back up to meet mine, I was paralyzed. I had never kissed someone in my life. Not once. And I was almost 24. Terrifying. I had hopped in the shower with this man without a second thought, but someone the idea of kissing him was far more terrifying. The intimacy was choking me. 

“Are you alright?”

“Mm-hm.” No I wasn’t. Hoffman seemed to sense my apprehension and, meeting me in the middle, kissed my forehead gently. He removed his arms from me and grabbed some shampoo from the edge of the tub. 

“Are you going to be upset if you smell like a man?”

“No I only use men’s shampoo and body wash, actually.” Smiling, he poured some shampoo in his hand and began to lather it through my hair. Incredible! Literally the best feeling I’d ever felt. 

We finished showering and both got out and got dressed. He loaned me a shirt of his, which wasn’t too big since I’m already fairly tall and bulky. I didn’t feel comfortable without any sort of pants on, so he loaned me a pair of shorts. 

“I take it you work tomorrow?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Do you sleep?”

“Hardly. I can’t right now or else I’ll never wake up.”

“You can sleep. I’ll stay up. I’ll wake you whenever you need.”

“I’m supposed to trust someone who hates cops to wake me up for my cop job?” I laughed and nodded. “Fine. Mostly because I think I’ll die if I don’t get any sleep. Just, have me up by 9. It’s a pretty late start tomorrow.” It was about 5:30. I felt really bad for him, but also, MOOD because that’s how college be.

I gave him a wink and smiled. He turned off all the lights and lay in bed while I took myself to the living room. I sprawled out on the couch and thought about his hand running over my lips. I thought about his blue eyes and the expanse of his body. I knew if I lay with him I would fall asleep. Who wouldn’t fall asleep being cuddled by a bear, right? 

Right? A good old teddy bear. 

And with that thought, my brain kicked into fear response. Why the fuck was I perceiving this murderer as a bear? Why did I want to crawl into bed with him? Was he using me? When was he going to get rid of Jigsaw? Was he going to? And if he did, was he right? Would I no longer want him if he didn’t need to be fixed? Why did I want him now? 

Okay calm down. 

I had three options. 

Resign myself to Hoffman’s choices and the waves of time. Have faith in whatever he chooses to do. 

Dip. Leave the situation entirely. Hand over the problem to the police (the rest of them) and the world at large. 

Go against Hoffman’s wishes and take down Jigsaw. 

Each solution had its own problems. Being passive is a problem. Screwing Hoffman over is a problem. Giving up is a problem. I gnawed at my nails until they were down to the bud. 

When 9 am hit, I woke Hoffman up from his reportedly restless sleep. He looked at me with eyes that had been given a glint for the first time in years. He got up and began to get ready, throwing on his usual work suit and coat and grabbing his bag. Before he left, he came over to me and gave me a hug. 

“Thank you. I’ll see you soon.” He smiled at me and walked out the door. 

Something about the way he smiled stirred something in me. And it wasn’t good. I cringed. I’d seen that look before, too many times, and it screamed in my face and beat me until I was blue and told me it would change and never did. 

I knew what I had to do.


End file.
